Puppy Dog Tails
by Random Ruth
Summary: Athos is brooding, Porthos is secretly a softie, Aramis is not jealous, and d'Artagnan is really sick of having to look after this puppy. One-shot.


**Author's Note: **So, it turns out that I've joined yet another fandom – as if I didn't watch enough TV already! But after only two episodes of this series I've found myself hooked good and proper. This plot bunny (puppy would be more appropriate) has been growing in my head for nearly two weeks now. I've started and stopped, but the story only took shape while I was trying to get over to sleep at 2:30am after being out with the sheep. I needed sleep, not this! Anyway, please enjoy! :)

* * *

**Puppy Dog Tails**

* * *

The travellers, three of them Musketeers and one of them a boy, entered the inn. They could already hear the rowdy patrons in the bar, and one of them leaned backwards to see through the door.

"Can I help you, ladies?" the man behind the desk asked the new arrivals. He was balding, middle-aged, with a thin pair of spectacles perched on his nose. His nose was buried in a log-book. He'd only glanced up at them for a moment before speaking.

Athos cleared his throat in the manliest way possible, and the man behind the desk looked up again. He squinted at the four of them through his spectacles.

"Ah. I apologise, gentlemen," he said, blushing slightly. "It's just we get a lot of bearded ladies around these parts. Easy mistake to make." He chuckled nervously.

"Have you four rooms, innkeeper?" asked Athos, all business.

The man consulted his book. "I'm afraid there's only the one room available at the moment, good sirs."

"We can share, I'm sure," piped up Porthos.

The innkeeper hesitated. "Uh, it's the honeymoon suite."

Athos sighed heavily, and looked back to his travelling companions. They all nodded back at him, and Aramis added a shrug for good measure. He turned back to the innkeeper. "We'll take it," he said, in a tone that suggested he really didn't want to.

"Excellent!" exclaimed the innkeeper, brightening. "In that case, welcome to Merdique Inn."

"I call the bed!" shouted Aramis, waving his arms in the air and running for the stairs.

* * *

The bar was indeed very noisy. But Athos had had much practise at brooding in lonely corners, and as he drank he was able to tune out the party that was happening on the other side of the bar. He stared at his forget-me-not locket, and buried himself in memories tinged with sadness and regret.

As soon as Porthos had seen a man playing chess with himself, he'd made a bee-line for him. With an easy smile and a cash bet he'd taken a seat opposite him. Porthos seemed to be winning a lot of money if his occasional sly smirking in Aramis' direction was anything to go by.

Aramis and d'Artagnan had taken the table by the fire. After four days on horseback, they were feeling a bit achy. The purpose of their journey was currently trying lick d'Artagnan's chin.

"He keeps doing that," Aramis observed blandly. "You must taste really good."

d'Artagnan glared at him, but the affect was somewhat spoiled by the puppy reaching up to lick his nose. "Ugh, stop it!" said d'Artagnan to the puppy. He pushed it down to sit on his lap. It started to wrestle against him, mouthing his fingers. "Ow!"

"Your farts do tend to smell like the back-end of a butcher's shop," Aramis mused aloud, chin resting in his hand.

The puppy started chewing on d'Artagnan's coat button. "Hey, don't eat that!"

"We should probably wear nose-plugs tonight, if we're to share a room with your toxic bowels," continued Aramis, sipping at his beer.

With both d'Artagnan's chin and his buttons declared out of bounds, the puppy started to yap and whine. This attracted the attention of three ladies. The first Aramis saw of them was a feminine hand coming to rest on d'Artagnan's shoulder; the boy jumped, but Aramis' face instantly formed the alluring, easy grin.

"Well," he said, "hello, madam, I—_ah_!" His eyes had travelled the length of the woman's arm as he spoke, and now rested upon a carefully trimmed beard.

d'Artagnan twisted in his chair to see the owner of the hand on his shoulder. Perhaps it was the sight of such a beautiful woman and her three friends, all sporting beards of various lengths, or perhaps it was the puppy's paw getting too close to his groin, but for whatever reason, d'Artagnan squeaked.

"Such a beautiful animal," the bearded lady cooed at the puppy. She held her hand out to it, and it licked the tips of her painted nails, tail wagging energetically. "Is it yours?" she asked to d'Artagnan.

His mouth opened and closed a few times before it seemed to start working again. "I, uh, no, I'm, er, helping some Musketeers return it to Paris for the King," he said.

"A royal doggy, how adorable!" said the bearded lady. She held out a hand for d'Artagnan to shake. "I'm Sabrina Clochard—" she indicated her two bearded friends, "—this is Rachelle Derrière, and Louise Seins. We're bearded ladies."

"The puppy likes beards," d'Artagnan blurted. Louise bent down to greet the puppy on his lap, and in doing so gave him a deliberately clear view of her ample cleavage. True to form, the puppy licked at her beard. She giggled, and d'Artagnan swallowed.

"Who are you, then?" asked Rachelle pleasantly, scratching the puppy behind the ears.

"Um..." d'Artagnan said.

"This is d'Artagnan," Aramis supplied helpfully. Under usual circumstances he would be jealous of another man having the attention of three ladies all to himself, but this time Aramis grinned. "He's very brave, you know. Pull up a chair, and I'll tell you all about him."

"Ooh," the ladies said together, puckering their lips. Two of them pulled chairs over and sat down, while Sabrina stood behind d'Artagnan and started to massage his shoulders. He let out a startled yelp. This time, when the puppy went to lick his ears, he didn't move or complain.

Aramis couldn't hold back his chuckle of amusement, and d'Artagnan did his best to glare daggers at him. Or spears. Or arrows. Something really pointy and stabby.

"Well, ladies," Aramis began, ignoring his friend in favour of amusing himself, "four days ago a friend of ours received orders from the King, and it was two days ago that we arrived at our destination..."

* * *

_Two days earlier..._

"Here we are," announced Athos, as he reined his horse to a stop at the end of an impressive winding lane that led up a hill to an even more impressive house.

"What's this man's name again?" Porthos asked anyone who would answer.

It was Aramis who piped up. "Steve Cul Bas," he said.

"What an unusual name," said d'Artagnan. "How in the world are you supposed to pronounce it? Steve, Steve, Steve... Ste-eve?"

Athos shrugged. "It doesn't matter. We retrieve the King's hound and we return it to him, this is all we have to do." He urged his horse forwards once more, and the others followed behind.

"Stay-eve?" continued d'Artagnan, testing the name on his tongue in as many ways as possible.

Two loping great hounds greeted them before they neared the end of the lane. They trotted athletically alongside the horses as they approached the house, tongues lolling happily.

"Monsieur Cul Bas, I presume," said Athos as they reached the house and found a man standing there waiting for them. He looked down at the two massive dogs that were now circling them. "These are magnificent hounds."

The approval seemed to please Cul Bas greatly, and a smile broke out on his haggard face. "That they are indeed, sir. But wait until you see the one I have spared for His Majesty. Follow me, good sirs!" He limped away, and the group dismounted to follow him. He led them through an archway into a courtyard. Cul Bas pointed with his walking stick at a set of wooden doors. "Your hound's in there."

The doors were shaking violently, and there was much growling and snarling and barking beyond them. Cul Bas didn't make any move to retrieve the hound himself. The three Musketeers exchanged a look in a language they'd learned during many years of fighting together; they had all reached a similar conclusion.

Porthos nodded and patted d'Artagnan roughly on the back, so hard that the boy stumbled forwards. d'Artagnan blinked at him. "Go on, then. Get us our hound."

"What?" d'Artagnan squeaked. "Me?"

Porthos rolled his eyes. "You're the one who's always saying you're at one with the animals. Give 'em a kind word and I'm sure they'll understand you."

d'Artagnan gulped, then slowly made his way over to the scary-sounding doors. He gave his companions one last glance before he slipped inside. The barking intensified; Aramis winced when he heard d'Artagnan shriek.

A puppy emerged through the gap in the doors first, followed by arms, then a ruffled d'Artagnan. He was bug-eyed with terror. "You were just the right choice, you know. Those puppies go mad for beards," said Cul Bas casually.

"_This_ is the hound for the King?" asked Athos.

"Uh-huh," Cul Bas nodded. "A fine specimen, one of the best I've ever bred. And I've bred a lot of them... You did bring something to transport him in, didn't you?"

"Er, no. I was expecting an adult dog that could run alongside us as we rode for home."

"Oh dear."

"Indeed," agreed Athos, as he watched the puppy squirm in d'Artagnan's arms and attempt to lick his chin.

"How about this?" Aramis suggested. Athos and Porthos turned to see that he'd fashioned his blue Musketeer cape into something resembling a sack.

Porthos looked horrified at the very thought. "He's just a baby, Aramis. We can't put him in a sack," he said, as if Aramis was some sort of heartless monster. "d'Artagnan will carry him for us."

"I will?"

* * *

_One day after that incident with the scary doors..._

The three Musketeers travelled in single file along a little-known path through the forest (there was no need to draw attention to themselves). Athos led the way, followed by Aramis and Porthos.

The fourth member of their party had fallen a little way behind. d'Artagnan's horse could be heard snorting. Porthos twisted in his saddle, unable to resist a look.

What he saw would provide much merriment for many years to come. d'Artagnan was juggling the reins, and the squirming puppy. It was wriggling in his arms, constantly reaching up to lick at his chin. "Stop that!" d'Artagnan snapped in frustration. The puppy cocked its floppy ears at him and tilted its head. Then it started to climb again, little claws determinedly digging into his clothes. "Argh!" The puppy's tongue stretched up to lick at his nose.

Porthos chuckled. "I think this journey's going to take longer than two days," he said to the others.

"Most likely," replied Athos.

"It just _stuck its tongue in my mouth_!" shouted d'Artagnan. "_Argh_!"

Porthos broke into a grin.

"When we do stop for the night, do you think we should get those two a room of their own?" Aramis said a bit too loudly.

"You're a bunch of _girls_!" shouted d'Artagnan. "Pathet—_aaaaah_!"

d'Artagnan's horse galloped past the Musketeers at full speed while d'Artagnan clung onto his saddle for dear life. Behind him, with claws dug deep into the horse's rump, was the puppy. It looked a mixture of excited and terrified.

They found d'Artagnan's horse before they found him. The horse had stopped to nibble at a bush, and it was so relaxed it was resting one of its legs. They heard the bush groan before d'Artagnan crawled out from under it, trying to blow his hair out of his face.

The puppy then emerged from the bush as well, none the worse for wear, and keeping up with its relentless attempts to lick d'Artagnan's chin. "Gah!" he said.

Porthos dismounted and helped d'Artagnan to his feet, the puppy bouncing around them and wagging its tail happily. Within minutes they were on their way again, the sounds of a puppy yapping and d'Artagnan muttering, "Bunch of girls..." under his breath the only things breaking the silence.

* * *

_Right about now, I'd say - or a few centuries ago, given that this is a period drama and none of these men with nice hair know what it means to have an internet connection..._

The puppy licked d'Artagnan on the nose, causing him to violently sneeze and interrupt Aramis' thrilling tale.

"Aww," fussed the three bearded ladies simultaneously, each handing d'Artagnan a handkerchief. Of course, d'Artagnan could only use the one, while the puppy stole the other two. It jumped off d'Artagnan's lap and ran off with them. The ladies didn't seem to mind, as fixated with d'Artagnan as they were.

"Bless you, d'Artagnan," said Louise silkily. d'Artagnan looked quite scared, and did his best to hide behind a feminine handkerchief.

"Bless you," the other two bearded ladies echoed.

Aramis cleared his throat loudly. "I'd best retire for the night," he announced. "Excuse me, ladies." He drained the last of his beer, stood and bowed to them.

They didn't pay him any attention, Sabrina stroking d'Artagnan's chin tenderly.

"Eep," said d'Artagnan.

As soon as his back was turned, Aramis grinned smugly. He quickly searched the room for the puppy – it was tan, and blended well with the bar's décor. He saw it was trying to jump up onto the chair at Athos' lonely table and decided to leave it be.

He nudged Porthos on the shoulder, and discreetly pointed to where d'Artagnan was sitting, surrounded by three enthralled bearded ladies. Porthos found the whole thing to be very funny indeed.

* * *

The party that had been so noisy before seemed to be over, and there was now only the rumble of conversation to tune out. Athos sighed, took a swig of beer, and gazed at his forget-me-not locket.

He jumped when something wet touched his unshaven chin, and looked down to find the puppy had somehow managed to climb up onto his table. It had dropped two feminine handkerchiefs, well-chewed and littered with holes, onto the table and was now stepping all over them. Athos frowned at them. No doubt there was a fascinating story behind that.

The puppy licking his chin made him smile, despite his being in the middle of a brooding session. He chuckled deep in his throat, and the puppy wagged its tail. Athos closed the locket and tucked it away. In the meantime, the puppy started lapping it his beer.

"Hey!" Athos said once he noticed. "Don't drink that. You'll get—" He manoeuvred the puppy's head out of the mug, and it blinked heavily at him, before burping in his face. "—drunk," he finished. The puppy staggered over to him, clearly wondering why it had suddenly turned all droopy.

Athos picked the puppy up carefully, and with a glance around the bar to be sure his companions were all right, he took it upstairs to the honeymoon suite. By the time he'd arrived at the top of the stairs, the puppy was snoring loudly in his arms. He pushed the door open with his elbow, saw the musket lying on the big double bed, and tried to find somewhere comfortable on the floor to have a nap. He made a pillow out of his blue Musketeer cape, and lay down.

It was probably for the best to get an early night like this if they were to reach Paris by noon tomorrow.

The puppy was still asleep when Athos drifted off, feeling not at all gloomy.

* * *

Less than an hour later, Aramis and Porthos stumbled into the room, merry with the weight of money in their pockets. They woke Athos up, but not the drunk puppy.

Aramis threw himself onto the bed with a laugh, and sighed contentedly. Porthos found himself somewhere on the floor he found comfortable enough and closed his eyes.

It was then that the door to their honeymoon suite creaked open. The Musketeers looked up to see a dazed, tousled d'Artagnan standing there. "Beards... so many beards..." he was saying absently, his eyes a hundred miles away. He didn't so much find a comfortable spot on the floor as faint and land in a heap.

With the others out for the count, various timbres of snoring filling the room, Athos had one last thought before he went to sleep again. _I'm going to miss the little puppy_...

* * *

Sometime during the night, the puppy decided that Porthos' tummy looked the softest. With a yawn, it extracted itself from Athos' arm and wandered over to Porthos. At the movement, Athos shifted in his sleep and mumbled, "...I'm a manly man..." He sighed and rolled, falling back into a deeper sleep.

Porthos woke to a puppy curled up on his chest, licking his chin, and found that the money he'd won last night had been vandalised by puppy teeth. He couldn't bring himself to be all that angry about it.

Not least when he saw the lipstick smudges surrounded by whisker burns on d'Artagnan's cheeks.

* * *

**The End**

* * *

**A/N: **Poor d'Artagnan! The surnames of my original characters are French. For example, Steve Cul Bas in English is Steve Arse Bottom (my sense of humour is very childish). It's worth also looking up the meaning of the inn's name. I'll end my rambling by saying that this is my 50th fic. Hoorays! Thanks for reading! :)


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